Chapter 1 Flowers Have Their Day of Rebirth

Before transmigrating, Xu Rong had been pulling overtime for half a month, drowning in reports and data until her face turned ashen and her steps faltered. When she finally collapsed at her workstation, she didn’t feel panic—instead, a wave of relief washed over her: At last, she could get a full night’s sleep.

As for work? To hell with it.

…

If Xu Rong had known that this collapse would turn her from Xu Rong into “Xu Rong,” she would never have thought that way.

But there’s no cure for regret. On the tenth day after transmigrating, Xu Rong finally abandoned all hope of returning and accepted her new identity.

An eighteen-year-old girl living who-knows-how-many centuries ago, freshly jilted.

And then—well, that was that.

Since she was already here, she might as well make do. What else could she do?

This body bore injuries. The original Xu Rong had fallen down a hillside, leaving a gash on her forehead. When Xu Rong (the transmigrator) took over, blood was still gushing out. She lay in bed, surrounded by a crowd of weeping women.

After days of listening in a daze, Xu Rong finally pieced together the whole story.

The young Xu Rong had been betrothed since childhood. When she came of age and her family had prepared the dowry, her fiancé changed his mind. Heartbroken and indignant, Xu Rong went to confront him. During the argument, she fell down the hillside.

Now, three families were embroiled in a heated dispute over the incident.

Why three? Because the “little hussy” who’d stolen the fiancé’s heart was also present. According to Madam Xu, Xu Rong’s mother, Xu Rong must have been pushed—either by the fiancé or the “little hussy.” But both denied it, insisting in unison that Xu Rong had simply lost her footing.

With no other witnesses, Xu Rong’s testimony as the victim became crucial.

But Xu Rong (the transmigrator) knew nothing. The original Xu Rong’s soul had vanished in that fall, leaving behind an empty shell with no memories.

When pressed by Madam Xu, she could only plead dizziness and memory loss—maybe someone pushed her, maybe not; maybe it was Xiao Lun (the fiancé), maybe the “little hussy.”

Madam Xu’s heart ached at this. Her poor daughter—not only disfigured by the fall, but her memory damaged too! Covering her face with a handkerchief, she sobbed: “My poor, unfortunate child—”

Madam Xu was the fragile type of mother, skilled at crying—perhaps that was all she knew how to do. She wept at home, at the Xiao family’s residence, and at the Chang family’s.

The Xiao family was Xiao Lun’s—the Marquis of Changxing’s household.

The Chang family was the “little hussy’s”—the Duke of Zheng’s household.

Tears, when wielded appropriately, could become sharp weapons. Since this incident combined nobility, scandal, potential homicide, and mystery—perfect fodder for gossip—Madam Xu’s relentless weeping soon spread the story far and wide, even among commoners. The reputations of the Xiao and Chang families became foul on the wind.

The “little hussy,” Second Miss Chang, suffered the innate disadvantage of her gender. Rumor had it she couldn’t bear the public scorn and had attempted to hang herself at home.

Unsuccessfully—her maids discovered and saved her in time.

“Tch, what a performance.”

“Exactly! She’s just too ashamed to show her face after harming our young lady, so she’s hiding behind this excuse.”

Xu Rong—now Xu Rong—overheard her maids whispering together in her room.

“Enough, why bring up those people? You’ll only upset the young lady.”

An older maidservant in green lifted the curtain and entered. With a sweeping glance, she chided them mildly but firmly.

Under the window, two young maids who had been embroidering handkerchiefs side by side stuck out their tongues and replied in unison, “Yes, Sister Bai Fu.”

Bai Fu held a lacquered tea tray with a delicate white porcelain bowl on it. Xu Rong lay on her pillow, subtly shifting her position as her gaze hooked onto it—what was it today? White fungus and lotus seed soup, or rock sugar and snow pear soup?

She was fine with either.

“Young Miss, the manor sent two baskets of freshly picked winter squash. Saozi Nan cut one open and found it tender, so she made sweet soup for you. Would you like to try some now?” Bai Fu asked with a smile as she approached.

Xu Rong nodded weakly, “Since you describe it so enticingly, I’ll have a taste.”

Bai Fu brightened, her steps becoming lighter. The young maid by the window brought over a large bolster pillow, helped Xu Rong sit up, and tucked it behind her.

The maid was only thirteen or fourteen, still clumsy at serving. Bai Fu frowned repeatedly, saying, “Gently, gently. The young miss is still ill—can she withstand your rough handling?”

Startled by the scolding, the young maid panicked. As she turned to leave the bed curtains, the ribbon tied around her looped bun somehow got tangled with the tasseled ornament hanging by the bed. Unable to move, she gasped, “Who’s pulling me?”

Xu Rong couldn’t help but laugh, reaching out to slowly untangle it for her. Only then did the flustered maid realize what happened, retreating with a red face.

Bai Fu shook her head, unable to suppress a smile. “Silly girl.”

She then presented the sweet soup.

Saozi Nan excelled at making snacks and sweet soups. The moment Xu Rong took it, she caught the sweet fragrance. Without showing any expression, she finished the small bowl spoon by spoon.

When Bai Fu retrieved the empty bowl, she beamed. “Young Miss has had a good appetite these past two days—it seems you’re nearly recovered. The Madam and the Marquis will be greatly relieved to hear this.”

Xu Rong gave a noncommittal “Hmm,” touching her temple.

The wound from her fall had scabbed over, itching faintly beneath the pain these days, making her unconsciously reach for it. Bai Fu noticed, her smile fading slightly before she forced it back, comforting, “Don’t worry, Young Miss. The capital has many skilled physicians—Imperial Physician Yang isn’t the only one. The Marquis has been searching everywhere these days. He’ll surely find a miracle doctor to heal your injury completely.”

Imperial Physician Yang was the previous doctor who treated Xu Rong’s wound—a proper eighth-rank official from the Imperial Medical Bureau. He had tactfully delivered his diagnosis: “For the young lady’s forehead injury, I’m afraid it will be difficult to leave no trace at all.”

As for “the Marquis,” that was Xu Rong’s younger brother, Xu Huazhang. The Xu family held a hereditary noble title. At just fifteen years old, Xu Huazhang had already inherited the title of Marquis of Ji’an after their father’s early passing.

Xu Rong groped by her pillow but found nothing, then extended her hand toward Bai Fu. “Where’s my mirror?”

Bai Fu hesitated. Seeing Xu Rong’s hand remain outstretched, she reluctantly turned to fetch a small hand mirror from the huanghuali cabinet in the corner, saying helplessly, “Young Miss, don’t keep looking at it these days—it will surely heal well later.”

She thought Xu Rong kept checking because she worried about the wound and feared it would upset her.

Little did she know, Xu Rong had to suppress a smile before raising the mirror to examine her reflection.

The well-polished bronze mirror’s clarity nearly matched that of glass. The face reflected back was both familiar and strange.

Strange because she hadn’t seen it in nearly ten years.

When she was seventeen or eighteen, her face had looked almost exactly like this—a ninety percent resemblance.

What a youthful face it was!

Bright eyes, plump cheeks, snow-white and delicate skin without a single enlarged pore, even the tip of her nose was delicate and smooth. To say it without shame, it was so pure that Xu Rong couldn’t bear to blink.

At that age, apart from studying, she had worked two jobs—one as a tutor and another as a part-time worker in the school cafeteria. Although national policies were favorable, and student loans could cover most of her expenses, growing up as an orphan in a welfare institution left her with an insecurity that made her relentless in her pursuit of money. In this high-intensity, day-after-day grind, her youth had flown by in a flash.

Back then, she hadn’t given much thought to that period, nor had she liked it—it was a time of helplessness and vulnerability, with the mountain of responsibilities awaiting her as an adult after graduation looming ahead.

It wasn’t until just before she transmigrated that she finally saved enough for a down payment on an eighty-square-meter pre-sale apartment in the new first-tier city where she worked. Only then did the tightly wound string in her heart loosen slightly.

She was going to have a home.

And then—

She collapsed and transmigrated.

Years of hard work vanished in an instant. The exhaustion from head to toe weighed her down so much that she spent ten days lying in bed after transmigrating, doing nothing but eating and sleeping—like a perfectly cured salted fish.

The only consolation was this face, restored to its youthful glory.

No high-end makeup could turn back time—only true youth was fearless.

As for the small scar on her forehead? What did it matter? Even if it never faded, Xu Rong didn’t care. A slight flaw on white jade didn’t make it any less precious.

At eighteen, she was like a tender willow sprouting on a spring branch, her cheeks faintly pink like the budding tip of a lotus in early summer. And her brows and eyes? They resembled distant mountains in late autumn, shrouded in mist and haze, naturally soft-lit—

“Miss,” Bai Fu cautiously interrupted her full-blown self-admiration and praise, “could you give me the mirror?”

Bai Fu always felt there was something off about the way her mistress looked at herself in the mirror—it wasn’t the gaze of someone examining a wound, but more like admiring a flower. Could she be growing angrier the longer she looked, to the point of madness?

It was hard to say. After all, the blows had come one after another without pause.

“Oh.”

Xu Rong handed over the mirror with a hint of reluctance.

It wasn’t that she was particularly vain. But if someone had ever felt the passage of youth, that regret of something slipping away no matter how hard they tried to hold onto it, they’d understand just how precious those two words—youth—truly were.

“Miss,” Bai Fu confiscated the mirror but didn’t put it away immediately, hesitating as if she had more to say, “Zhi Tao and—”

“Rong’er, Rong’er!”

A woman’s joyful voice rang out from beyond the door, cutting Bai Fu off.

Xu Rong raised an eyebrow in surprise. She recognized the voice—it was her “mother,” Madam Xu. Because her son had inherited the title early, she had been elevated to the status of an elder lady before even turning forty. However, since Xu Huazhang was still young and unmarried, people habitually addressed her as “Madam.”

From the moment Xu Rong woke up, she hadn’t seen Madam Xu’s tears dry. This was the first time she’d heard such a cheerful tone.

Bai Fu moved to the door to lift the curtain, and Madam Xu soon entered, her face radiant with joy.

Madam Xu sat down happily by the bed and said, “Rong’er, you don’t have to worry anymore. The Xiao family has agreed—your engagement to the Xiao heir won’t be called off. Once your injuries heal, they’ll come to take you as their bride!”

Xu Rong: “……?”

What was this lady talking about?

Madam Xu noticed the confusion on her face but mistook it for pleasant surprise. Smiling warmly, she patted Xu Rong’s hand and said, “It’s true. No matter how powerful their family is, they can’t defy reason. I fought for days, putting my pride aside, and finally secured justice for you.”

Xu Rong continued: “……?”

What kind of justice was this?

Before the original Xu Rong’s accident, the Xiao family had already intended to break off the engagement. It was this very news that had driven the young girl to confront Xiao Lun in distress.

After transmigrating into this body, Xu Rong assumed that with relations between the two families so strained, the engagement would inevitably be dissolved. So she had been eating and drinking without a care, putting off any thoughts about the future.

Who would have thought that after days of effort, Madam Xu had somehow managed to salvage this marriage—and was now proudly presenting it as an achievement?

Whether Xiao Lun had pushed the original Xu Rong or not, one thing was undeniable: he had been secretly involved with another woman before breaking off the engagement, betraying his promise.

Shouldn’t a man like that be tossed straight into the hazardous waste bin?